There's a Bad Moon on the Rise
by desist
Summary: Castiel is stuck at an orphanage where the warden is only out after his fortune, but things change when the brothers Dean and Sam are forced to the orphanage, both of them carrying a secret with them in their dad's old '67 Impala. AU, Dean/Cas.


**There's a Bad Moon on the Rise**

**Pairing:** Dean/Castiel

**Word Count: **~3000 (WIP)

**Summary: **Castiel is stuck at an orphanage where the warden is only out after his fortune, but things change when the brothers Dean and Sam are forced to the orphanage, both of them carrying a secret with them in their dad's old '67 Impala.

**Warnings:** PG-13 - R. Orphanage AU without supernatural beings. Some child abuse, cursing and violence. Slash.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. The title is from Bad moon rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival, and the chapter's title is from Pink Floyd's song Money. I own nothing but the plot.

**A/N:** First Supernatural fic, so I'm testing ground over here. Also, unfortunately unbetaed.

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**Prologue Money, So They Say, Is The Root Of All Evil Today**

Castiel didn't believe in God. If there was anything in this world he didn't believe in, it was God.

He had believed in God, once. He had kneed beside his bed and prayed every night. He had prayed that his parents would return so he wouldn't have to stay with Uncle Zachariah at the orphanage anymore. Zachariah wasn't really his uncle, but he insisted that all the children in the orphanage would call him Uncle anyway. Castiel didn't like it at all. He didn't want a fake uncle, he wanted his real family back. But they never came, and Zachariah and God were his only family.

He didn't really remember his family at all. He did remember the sun shining on his mother's face even if he didn't really remember how her face had looked, and somewhere in the back of his head, he thought he could hear his father calling his name.

Sometimes when he slept, he dreamed of the voice calling his name, but when he woke up in his bed, it was another voice barking his name; a voice he didn't nearly loved as much. After a while, Castiel almost started to hate his name. Nothing good ever followed it. Sometimes it was Zachariah who wanted to give him a beating for not being obedient enough, or looking away during one of the orphanage's church services. Sometimes it was one of the other children calling on his attention before they smacked him into a wall or threw their fist into his face.

Just like here had been a time when Castiel had believed in God, there had been a time when he actually liked Zachariah. The man had taken care of him during his first fourteen years, always making sure he got good food and a bed with clean sheets. He even bought him a new pair of shoes every Christmas, and a toy for his birthday. They had prayed together. He had liked his Uncle Zachariah at that time, and Castiel had thought of him as family.

The orphanage wasn't the ultimate place to grow up on; everybody knew that. The old house was located just outside the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a high fence. They said that it was to keep the animals out, but there wasn't any doubts that it acted as a insurance that the children would stay in the property too. The house itself had lived too long, and it might even have died a while ago. Had it been located in a more populated area it would have been demolished since long and a mall or something equal would have taken its place. But instead the building remained with its dark hallway that always smelled like mold even when the children just had cleaned them, and with all the doors that didn't seem to lead anywhere. Room after room was filled with bunk beds or mattresses and wherever you went you could hear the sound of running child feet, the high-pitched cry of a baby or someone praying to the Lord to take them away from the orphanage.

This was the place Castiel had grown up in, and it showed. Just like Darwin's theory about the survival of the fittest, the strongest children took their place. Castiel was not one of them, and adding that to the fact that Zachariah somewhat favored him and he preferred to have his nose down some second-hand bought book to spend time with the other children. Instead he got shoved into anything hard close by accompanied with an insult spat into his face. He was the odd duck, in more ways than one, but Castiel still survived and lived along in the background of the orphanage.

Then one day, only a week or two before his fifteenth birthday, Castiel had walked past the scruffy office that was Zachariah's only to overhear a conversation Zachariah was having over the phone. What he said had Castiel intrigued, so even if he knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, he couldn't walk away. Soon, he's eyes widened as he understood that the conversation Zachariah was about him, and apparently an inheritance he had never even heard of.

"It's just three more years, then we can take it all. Little Castiel will get some cash for the train and we'll never see him again He will never see the money his stupid little parents left him. God, the little fucker doesn't even know that he has thirty fucking millions waiting for him. Oh, I can imagine his face... What was that? Zachariah paused, listening to what the person on the other side was saying while Castiel himself stared out in the empty space.

His legs felt weak and slowly, he slipped down on the floor with his back turned against the wall. He wanted to sob and cry, but he did neither in fear that Zachariah would notice him. A massive train of thought ran through his mind.

He had money. He had a lot of money. Why were he on a poor orphanage if he had money? And why hadn't Zachariah told him anything about it? It was a sin to lie; everybody knew that. So why were Zachariah lying? Castiel was confused, and scared as he looked up towards the ceiling and the sky he knew was above it.

Then Zachariah started talking in the phone again, putting his legs on his desk before he stretched his right arm high in the air.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got him under control. He really believes in God, so it's actually quite simple. You just tell him what 'God' wants, and he's on it. Such an idiot... Or well, he's smart, with books and all that, but he's too easy to manipulate. And he doesn't remember anything about his parents, doesn't even know they're dead, much less how. Stupid brat... So rest easy, it's three more years and then thirty million dollar."

Zachariah laughed, and every word he uttered stabbed Castiel straight into his chest. Tears started to appear in the corners of his eyes, but he bit down on his fist to keep from making any sound. Zachariah was finishing his call by ensuring the other talker that he would make sure to screw Castiel over properly. Fear flashed in Castiel's eyes as Zachariah put the phone back in its station. Looking around, Castiel crawled away on all fours, and hid in one of the many dark corners of the orphanage. Trying to breath slowly, he muttered a soft prayer under his breath.

A few second later, Zachariah walked out from his office and closed the door behind him. Castiel watched him walk the other way along the hallway, but it wasn't until the man was out of sight that Castiel pulled his legs up against his chest and started crying. His breast heaved up and down as he sobbed. Everything he had ever known had changed in a few minutes. His parents were dead. He was rich. And apparently Zachariah was screwing him over, big time.

Zachariah didn't even like him. The man had been the only steady thing in his life, the only thing he had ever trusted. He had fooled around with Castiel all his life, all for his money; money he he didn't even know he had. Although, that had been the point with Zachariah's scheme.

As stated, Castiel was a clever child, and at the age of fifteen, he was able to put two and two together. Tears were still pouring from his eyes when he slowly stood up, supported by the wall. He checked the hallway for any sightings of Zachariah before he stumbled towards the office. The door was unlocked as always, and Castiel carefully opened it. Stepping in, he dried away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt so he could see better before he attacked the file cabinet.

All the papers concerning the children at the orphanage was held in the gray box in different files made out of old yellowed papers. He browsed through them, recognizing almost all of the names printed on the files before he found his own. It was big, bigger than any of the other ones. It felt heavy in his hand and when he opened he saw a thick load of papers. There were bank statements about 3, 286,974 $, medical records from many years ago, and in the end he found his birth certificate confirming that his birthday was indeed the 23d of August 1992. the slip of paper told him another thing about himself, his last name.

Castiel stared at the paper for a long time. He had always been just Castiel. He knew it was the name of an angel, but not much more than that, besides that the other children found it funny enough to give him hell for it. But this was a last name. He was now Jim Jr. Castiel Novak. And that wasn't the end of it. He was Jim Jr. Castiel Novak, the son of Jim and Amelia Novak. Tears threatened to start again, as his index finger traced the letters that spelled out his parents' names. He didn't know how long he just stood there, looking at the names, but he couldn't rip his gaze from the birth certificate.

It felt like hours later, but Castiel finally put his file back in the cabinet and walked out from the office as soon as he checked that the coast was clear. He walked back to the room he shared with a couple of other boys and crawled up in the top bunk he still didn't knew how he had kept though out the years. His book and newspaper collection rested on a shelf above the bed, even if it only had five books. On the other hand, he had loads of old newspapers, since they were considerably cheaper and easier to find on the street.

He had read them over and over again in lack of other things to read. It didn't matter that some of the news were as old as he was. He enjoyed reading, but it was hard to read without reading material. And right now, Castiel was very, very glad that he had read those newspapers so many times and kept them.

Searching in the bottom of his pile he found one from 1995 with the headline that Sweden and Austria had joined the European Union, but that wasn't what interested Castiel for the moment, no matter how intriguing foreign politics were. He browsed through the old pages until he looked with big blue eyes at an old article. He remembered that he had kept the article because of a charity organization having the same name as himself.

'_The Novak murder still unsolved_

_-The local police and the FBI still do not have any further clue in the murder of Jim and Amelia Novak, 34 & 32, founders of the charity organization C__astiel The murder took place outside the victims' villa last Monday, but the police have still not found a suspect. FBI's spokesman Victor Henricksen stated that they still have not given up the search for the murderer, or the victims' lost son. The son Jim Jr., 3, disappeared the same night as his parents was murdered and no one has seen him since. Jim Jr. is the sole heir to the family's fortune of thirty million dollars, and the police fears that kidnapping with a ransom demand might be a part of the tragedy, but no such demand has been made yet.'_

Today, the article had a whole different meaning. The charity organization didn't only have the same name as Castiel, it was named after him, or possibly the opposite. But that came in second place.

Castiel parents were murdered, and even if he didn't want to believe it, he had a faint idea about who had done it. He had loathed the sound of Zachariah's voice when he had talked about his dead parents on the phone with the mysterious person, but Castiel's anger boiled hotter within him now. He had spent years and years missing his family, hoping and fantasizing that his parents would come back, but now they were dead. He had it black on white. They were dead, murdered, possibly by the man who raised him. But how could a man who prayed every day, one of the Lord's faithful men, do such a thing?

The days following Castiel was very quiet. Zachariah walked up to him once and asked if he was alright. Castiel couldn't meet his eyes that time, and only nodded as he walked on. Zachariah's voice had been his normal one, not the one he had used on the phone. He sounded genuinely worried, and Castiel wondered for a moment if he had just imagined everything, but only for a moment. The next second he wanted to cry and shout insults and the question 'What did you do to my parents?' at him, but he kept quiet and walked back to his room and his bed. As soon as he had climbed up to the top bunk and pulled the covers over his head, he started crying in silent sobs.

The days passed and his birthday drew closer. Castiel spent many hours thinking of what he was supposed to do. He thought of running away, but without money and no real knowledge about the world outside the orphanage's garden, Castiel realized that he would never last long. He considered dropping the whole thing, simply playing along with Zachariah's little act. It had worked the first fifteen years of his life, so why not the last three?

He soon realized that he could never just let it go. He couldn't look Zachariah in the eyes anymore, and he sensed that Zachariah suspected that something was up. On his fifteenth birthday, Zachariah came into his room with a fresh sandwich and a wrapped gift that turned out to be Alexander Dumas' 'The Three Musketeers

A small smile appeared on Castiel's face. The book was old, but still in a good condition with all the pages still intact. The title and the author's name was printed in big golden letters on the cover page. He traced them just like he had followed the letters on his name on his birth certificate a few weeks ago. That was when he couldn't keep quiet anymore.

"Uncle Zachariah he started, eyes unsure on what they ought to focus on. The words were clogged in his throat, but slowly they passed his tongue. What happened with Jim and Amelia Novak? They were my parents, were they not?

The look in Zachariah's eyes changed in a second. His jaw clenched, as did his fist and the moment later it connected with Castiel's cheek. He fell over with a short yelp as he dropped the book on the floor. His big blue eyes looked up at Zachariah with fear in them, but he was only met with a cold stare as another punch rained down on him.

The prayer he started chanting was just as much a reflex as protecting his head with his raised arms, but Zachariah started laughing as soon as the words of God passed past Castiel's lips.

"Where's your God now, angel boy? He hasn't helped you during these fifteen years, so why would he care now? Zachariah spat out as he continued beating up Castiel. A sick wide grin was plastered to his face as he grabbed the hem of Castiel's shirt and pulled him up close to his face.

"I think you can stop praying now, Castiel. he said when Castiel refused to meet his gaze. Castiel's lips still formed the words of the prayer like his life depended on it. Squeezing his chin, Zachariah forced Castiel to look into his black eyes, ignoring the whine that escaped him.

"You should know that I have wanted to do this a long, long time ago. Year after year, I have to play nice with you, just because my idiot brother pitied you. '_He's just a child... We shouldn't harm him...'_ Zachariah mimicked with a high-pitched voice and made a sour face. Screw him, and screw you!"

"God will punish you, Zachariah! Castiel managed to gasp out, dropping the 'uncle'.

"We'll see about that, shall we? Zachariah snorted as an answer before the last punch rendered Castiel unconscious.

Castiel woke up several hours later. His eyes struggled to keep open as the swelling made it hard to see. Without looking into a mirror, he knew he was full of bruises and probably had a black eye or two too. Moving around shot strings of pain through his whole body, but he managed to sit up, supporting himself on the harsh wooden floor that he had been thrown on.

It wasn't his usual room. No bunk beds stood along the wall and no shoes or dirty shirts were thrown across the floor and over anything that could work as a hanger. The only things in the room were a chair, an ancient looking chest which seemed to have sailed the Seven Seas and an old mattress with a blanket thrown over it. Castiel was able to smell the blanket's stench from all the way were he sat, and his nose was filled with the odor of rat droppings.

Aside from the poor furniture, the room had a door and a small window above the chest. Outside, Castiel saw a glimpse of a blue sky and clouds passing by. Some of the sunshine from outside made it in to his gloomy room, making it the only light source.

Standing up carefully, Castiel stumbled towards the door and pulled the knob several times without any effect. It was locked.

Sitting down again with his back turned against the closed door, Castiel looked out through the window towards God's heaven, but soon enough his gaze fell away. His eyes stung and salty tears started pouring down his cheek. It wasn't because the pain he was in, but because he was betrayed by the two most important persons in his life.

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Now, I'd love to know what you thought!


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